


'Round in Circles to You

by eleanor_lavish



Category: Kingsman (Movies) RPF
Genre: Idiots in Love, Long-Term Relationship(s), M/M, Multi, Oblivious Taron, Pining, Polyamory Negotiations, Threesome - M/M/M, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-18
Updated: 2017-12-18
Packaged: 2019-02-16 10:58:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13052610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eleanor_lavish/pseuds/eleanor_lavish
Summary: Liv had noticed the way they were with each other - too familiar, toohappyfor a pair of Englishmen - and so she’d asked. “Would you, if you had the chance?” Colin had been quiet for a long time. He loved his wife, he loved his family, but if he could have chosen another path…“Maybe,” he concedes. “In a another lifetime.”“But not in this one?”Colin wraps an arm around her and pulls her close. “I’m pretty happy at the moment.”Livia leans into him. “I am too, but he looks at you, and I think maybe you could be more happy?”





	'Round in Circles to You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Deepdarkwaters](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Deepdarkwaters/gifts).



**1997 - Fever Pitch Release - April**

They’d talked about it, because Livia was thankfully Italian in the hedonistic way and not the Catholic way. 

“You stand so close,” she’d say, or, “Do you know the way he looks at you?”

Colin frankly _had_ noticed the way Mark looked at him, but Mark was smouldering on a normal day, so Colin felt he couldn’t claim ownership of that look.

“Not smouldering,” Liv had told him once. “With Mark, he’s always got that look, but around you he goes soft in the eyes.”

Colin hadn’t noticed that at all. 

But Liv had noticed the way they were with each other - too familiar, too _happy_ for a pair of Englishmen - and so she’d asked. “Would you, if you had the chance?” Colin had been quiet for a long time. He loved his wife, he loved his family, but if he could have chosen another path… 

“Maybe,” he concedes. “In a another lifetime.”

“But not in this one?” 

Colin wraps an arm around her and pulls her close. “I’m pretty happy at the moment.”

Livia leans into him. “I am too, but he looks at you, and I think maybe you could be more happy?” Colin thinks being more happy would be so sinful and wonderful and complicated and terrifying that he’d probably die of a very English heart attack. “If you would feel better, I would be happy to be more happy with you,” she whispers in his ear and oh, dear lord.

*

It doesn’t happen then, because Colin has this immense need to be loved by everyone which is always at war with his intense jealousy whenever he has to _share_. Plus, there’s a fairness issue. And what if Livia didn’t like Mark? Or what if she liked him too much? Or what if Mark said _no_?

So it doesn’t happen and it doesn’t happen, and Colin sees Mark at industry events and holiday parties of friends and sometimes he comes around for an Arsenal game (but only when the boys are out of the house - Mark’s swearing is nearly Shakespearean in its depth and breadth). 

It doesn’t happen, and then Mark meets Liza and his soft eyes look away from Colin, and Colin _hates_ that he hates it, because Liza is lovely and Mark is his friend and everything should be wonderful. But.

But.

**********

**2004 - November**

“We should invite them for dinner,” Liv says to Colin over breakfast one day. Colin doesn’t even have to look at her to know who she’s talking about; they ran into Mark and his lovely new wife at a BBC event the night before. Liza and Liv had hit it off right away, chattering about casting and budgets and scumbag producers like they’d been friends for years. Mark and Colin mostly drank watered down bourbon and talked football and stood a little too close, as always. 

“They’re newlyweds,” Colin say peevishly. “They won’t want to have dinner with us.”

“We’re practically newlyweds,” Liv replies, her eyes dancing. 

Colin snorts. “No, we’re boring old parents who are lucky to have finally gotten out of the ‘spit up on all our clothes’ portion of our lives.”

“Well,” Liv laughs, “all the more reason to celebrate a return to normal life! Your mama has been dying to get the children for a weekend. I’m sure --”

“Liv,” Colin groans, dropping his head into his hands. “Fine, invite them, I’m sure they’re too busy,” he mumbles at the table.

“Oh, your Mark is never too busy for you, darling.” She laughs again and ruffles his hair as she walks past. 

*

Livia is never wrong, which is both infuriating and why he married in the first place.

“You said what?” he asks, trying and failing to keep the panic out of his voice.

“I said only that they could stay the weekend, if they wish! Your mama has the boys until Monday at least and -”

“The English don’t pop ‘round for the weekend, Liv. Not unless there’s fucking foxhunting. They’re going to think we….”

Liv blinks at him, her mouth curling into a grin. “Hmmm?” she prompts.

“They’re going to think the _wrong thing_ ,” he hisses at her. 

“Are they? Or are they going to think the exact thing we are thinking?”

“That is not… wait,” Colin gapes at her. “What exactly _are_ you thinking?”

“Whatever you are, caro.” She waves her hand over her shoulder as she wanders out of the room, typing furiously on her Blackberry.

“That is not an answer,” he yells after her.

*

“We’re so glad you could come,” Liv practically purrs, as she pours another glass of wine for Liza. Liza grins up at her from the plush chair in Colin and Livia’s living room. Colin is sprawled on the sofa with Mark on the other side, half a meter between them. Colin’s been buzzing all night, and considered not drinking at all, but when Mark arrived in a soft brown jumper with a bottle of red in hand, Colin had felt his knees go weak as jelly. He’d drunk most of the bottle himself. Liv perches on the arm of Liza’s chair, looking glamorous and genteel and not at all like a lady who would say, “Colin and I have a proposition for you.” Colin freezes.

“Well, that sounds intriguing,” Mark says with a lazy smile, the kind that Colin’s gotten all too used to, the kind he feels like he hoards all to himself. “What kind of proposition?”

“The proposition kind,” Liv says. “Did I not use that word right, darling?” she asks Colin, eyes dancing, and Colin narrows his eyes at her.

“I’m not sure, _darling_ \- what exactly were we asking again?” He punts the conversation back.

Liv huffs at him, but then she’s smiling, a Cheshire cat grin that makes Colin wish he’d not just done that. “We were asking if Liza and Mark would go to bed with us. Is that not what proposition means?”

The sentence sits there, hanging in the air as Colin tries to remember how to breathe. He can’t believe she just _said it_. Fucking _Italians_.

“Well, that’s definitely intriguing,” Liza murmurs into the stunned silence. “Wouldn’t you say so, Mark?”

Colin finally forces himself to glance toward the other end of the sofa where Mark is sitting. His lazy smile has been replaced by a look of near panic, and Colin’s heart starts beating hard enough he can feel it in his throat. What a monumentally _stupid_ idea this is. “Look, it’s just something we… it’s not. If you don’t -” he stammers, but Mark cuts him off.

“Is this a terrible idea?” he asks, his voice low and tight. Colin can’t tell who he’s asking - his wife, Colin, the universe - but Liza leans toward them, elbows on her knees, her gaze clear and bright despite the wine. 

“Mark?”

“Would you hate me?” he asks her.

“We’ve already discussed that,” she replies, and Mark exhales slowly. Colin feels like he’s eavesdropping on something intensely intimate. He supposes he is; he supposes that what just happened, when Liv opened that door, is basically asking that they all be intensely intimate with each other. Colin isn’t sure he likes that part of it, and he thinks Mark feels the same, from the way he’s hunched forward now, mirroring his wife, hands white-knuckled on his glass. “Would you hate me?” Liza asks, the corner of her mouth curling up as she glances at Colin.

“No,” Mark says, his cheeks going noticeably pink, “no, I definitely would not.”

“Livia,” Liza says, not looking away from Mark, “I think it only fair to warn you I’m married to a man who’s a bit of a voyeur.”

“Well, I’m married to a man who’s a bit of a show-off,” Liv laughs, “so that would be fine, I think.”

Colin should be offended by that, honestly, but Mark’s finally looking over at him, his eyes dark. “And you? Is this your idea?”

“No,” Colin says, “but only because my wife is much, much braver than I am. I was more than happy to pine from afar.”

“You were a sad cow,” Livia tells him, resting her hand on Liza’s shoulder in a way that makes Colin’s stomach tighten with anticipation.

“Oh dear,” Mark grins, “can’t have any sad cows.”

“That is not a real expression,” Colin argues, but Mark is shifting closer on the sofa, his body angling toward Colin’s, and Colin can’t help but respond in kind until they’re close enough that all Colin can see is Mark’s eyes. 

“Are you sure,” Mark starts, and Colin kisses him with too many years of pent-up frustration, kisses him hard enough to knock Mark back into the arm of the sofa, Colin pressing in close. It’s too much, Colin worries, Colin wants _too much_ , but Mark just slides a hand to the back of Colin’s neck and lets him take and take and take.

**********

**2007 - December**

It’s nearing Christmas and Mark and Liza have come around for a weekend, but with kids in tow. It’s a full house - four adults and three boys under six, and Liza expecting again. It’s lovely, but it’s not the kind of weekend where they fall into bed together at the end of it. Wine is drunk and lives are discussed, but in the middle there are interruptions for bumped elbows that need kisses and tears over stolen toys. Colin doesn’t mind it, not really, but it’s been nearly six months since the last time the four of them had a house all to themselves, and, sitting next to Mark on the sofa, Colin’s skin itches. They’re pressed together knee to hip, Mark’s arm flung casually over Colin’s shoulders, his fingers playing idly with Colin’s hair, and Colin just _wants_. 

“Oh for fuck’s sake, can you _never_ not think about sex?” Liza sighs as she walks into the room. Colin looks up guiltily, but she’s shaking her head fondly at Mark. Colin tips his head back to see Mark glaring at her.

“I am sitting here quietly, doing nothing of the sort,” Mark tells her, but Colin is close enough to see the blush creep up his neck. 

“For an actor, you are a terrible liar,” Liv says, coming up behind Liza with a platter of cheese. 

“You weren’t even here!” Mark says, accusingly, and Colin can’t help but laugh. 

“She knows everything,” Colin tells him. “It’s useless to argue.”

“You could at least be on my side,” Mark says, looking down at him sternly. Colin hasn’t been intimidated by that look in years.

“I’m sorry, but as we’ve told the boys, we do not tolerate lying in this household.”

“And you were being so good, not like Mark?” Liv teases, because she knows how much he _wants_ sometimes and doesn’t seem to mind it. 

“Oh, I freely admit I was thinking about sex,” Colin admits, still looking up from where his head is cushioned on Mark’s shoulder. He relishes the way Mark’s eyes go just a little wide. “With Mark - very dirty stuff. Wildly inappropriate.” Mark pinches his arm, but then leans down to kiss him. Colin sighs into it.

“You two are adorably gross,” Liza tells them, and Liv snorts in amused agreement.

“This seems like a good time,” Liv says to Liza, and Liza nods, and suddenly they are both sitting down across from Mark and Colin with matching serious looks, and Colin runs hot-and-cold. “We need to talk about this arrangement.” 

They never talk about this thing that they all have; they just plan for weekends with kids, or without, and the outcome is assumed if it’s the latter. Granted, it’s been ages since a kidless weekend, and with Liza due in the Spring it’ll be ages still. But it’s _good_ , what they have, and Colin fears he has started to take it for granted. Mark goes deathly still beside him, and Colin is pretty certain they’re in the same boat, desperately hoping if they just don’t move then it won’t get tipped over. 

“Look at them, like terrified children who broke a toy,” Liv say, and Colin’s stomach unclenches at her tone, the same one she has when she’s trying to be firm with the boys but they’re being too charming for her to be stern. 

Liza sighs again and leans back, her hands spread on her growing belly. “This is lovely. We all agree that this is lovely, and I’ve had a lovely time, but this… was never about me and Liv, and we both know that.”

“Liza -,” Mark starts and Colin’s impressed by how she shuts him off with a look.

“Honestly, it’s brought us all so much closer, and that’s the best side effect of this whole thing, that I can call Liv at all hours about anything, and I know she’ll be there, and Colin will too,” Liza continues. “But we think, Liv and I, that we’d like to step back from the rest of it.”

 _The rest of it_ lies heavy in the air and Colin finds himself leaning away from Mark even as he’s nodding.

“Yes, of course, it should be something everyone wants, not some sort of obligation,” Mark manages, “If you’ve felt that way at all, if you think we should stop -” and Colin finally looks at Liv, only to discover she’s desperately trying not to _laugh_ at them. It all crashes together in Colin’s brain and he feels this sense of giddy relief wash over him.

“Oh, you fucking terrible person,” he growls at her. “Were you just going to let him go on like that?”

“What?” she says, a giggle finally coming through. Mark stops mid-sentence and looks at Liza, who Colin is impressed to find has a much better poker face than his wife.

“As I was saying,” she continues, unflappable, but with a warm smile breaking through, “Liv and I are going to step back from the rest of it, but we’ve discussed it, and we’re both perfectly fine if the two of you want to continue.”

“I’m sorry?” Mark asks, still thrown by the abrupt shift in tone in the room.

Colin leans back into Mark heavily and takes his hand. “Our wives are saying that their swinging days are over, but if we’d like to keep fucking, we’re more than welcome to do so,” he translates. 

“Oh,” Mark says, blinking down at him. “Well. What do you think?”

“I’m game if you are,” Colin grins. 

“I’m very much game,” Mark replies. 

“Good,” Liv says, and then tosses an envelope at them. It hits Colin squarely on the chin. “Merry Christmas. Wiltshire Hotel, room 1014, go have fun before one of you dies of… what is that saying?” she asks Liza.

“Blue balls.”

“Yes, that.”

*

Room 1014 at the Wiltshire becomes a Christmas tradition, with meet ups in between in hotel rooms and empty houses and, one memorable afternoon, a storage closet backstage at Cannes.

**********

**2011 - Tinker Tailer Soldier Spy Premiere - September**

“Did you mean for it to be obvious, or...?” Liv whispers in his ear as the film plays. Colin bats her away, blushing, and she laughs. On his other side, Mark is scrunching down further in his seat. 

After the film is over, and they’re all in a limousine to the afterparty, Liza crosses her arms. “You are both terrible at acting,” she tells them.

Mark huffs in annoyance. “It’s not even _subtext_ , it’s actual _text_ \--”

“Not to the producers,” Liza retorts.

“Fuck the producers,” Colin says, grinning at their producer-wives, and both of them kick him in the shins.

“I’m just saying you may as well have tattooed “Jim and Bill forever” on your forehead,” Liza admonishes Mark, and Colin throws one long leg over Mark’s lap.

“He can’t help it, I’m irresistible even as a rake.”

“Especially as a rake,” Liv tells him, leaning over to give him a kiss.

“Thank you, darling,” Colin tells her, as Mark and Liza continue to bicker over text and subtext and who notices what. 

“Well, fine,” Mark finally concedes, “maybe I was playing it as ‘Jim and Bill forever,’ because how much do you have to love someone if you’d rather see them dead than suffering? I’d certainly shoot Colin in the fucking head if it was that or torture. Maybe I wanted the audience to know that.”

“That’s surprisingly lovely, thank you,” Colin tells him, taking his hand and kissing his knuckles. Mark laces their fingers together gives Colin’s hand a tight squeeze. That day of shooting had been oddly brutal for both of them, and Colin’s finally understanding why.

“ _Actors_ ,” Livia says with a flourish and Liza groans. 

“Fucking _actors_ ,” she agrees.

**********

**2013 - 30 days into Kingsman shooting - November**

Mark and Colin spend _hours_ talking about it before they ask. There’s back and forth, questions of jealousy, and if it was ethical or creepy, or if it was even feasible at all, and mostly about how they’d explain the situation to him even if they got that far. But in the end Colin’s crush on this silly boy they’d just met turned out to be slightly more than a crush, and Mark’s desire to give Colin everything he wants, all the time, apparently also ran to twinks with abs that made Colin weep with joy. In the end, Mark agrees that Colin can definitely fuck Taron, but that Mark will definitely watch. Colin is very unsurprised by how much he’s happy with that arrangement. 

They ask their wives together, in the physical sense, though Mark sternly tells Colin that he’ll be the one to do all the talking.

In the end, it barely matters. When Colin finally splutters out “We’d very much like to, well, would it be alright if we took Taron to bed?” Liv fixes him with a hard stare.

“Do you have real feelings for him, or is this just because his arse looks amazing in those suits?”

“Real feelings, it appears,” Colin says with a grimace. That had been one of the biggest issues for Mark as well. He’d honestly like to say no, that he’s just a horny old man and he’d like to get his hands on that arse because it’s a nice arse and not because it’s attached to a boy with a keen mind and quick laugh and this way of looking at Colin like he’s a fucking god which, to be fair, neither Mark nor Livia have _ever_ done, and it’s _nice_. So, there are feelings.

Liza tilts her head at Mark. “And you’re going along with this because…”

Mark shrugs. Liza raises her eyebrows in that amazing way that makes even Colin want to fall to his knees and beg forgiveness, and Mark caves with a sigh. “Because Taron’s lovely, and because Colin wants to, and because…”

“Because wouldn’t it be a pretty sight,” Liza fills in and Mark shrugs again.

Livia and Liza have a silent conversation that Colin tries and fails to follow. “Okay,” Liza finally says, “ _but_ ,” she adds before Colin can make an fool of himself by high-fiving Mark in his kitchen, “you have to let him come to you.” 

“Don’t push it,” Liza agrees. “He worships you - if you ask, he’ll say yes to anything, even if he’s not ready for it.” 

“Right, of course,” Colin says. 

*

Three weeks later he’s kicking himself for agreeing without thinking it through, but who knew that a smart boy with a healthy libido could be _that dense_?

Mark is laying on the bed - _their_ bed, which they share because Matthew arrainged adjoining hotel rooms at the start of filming. (Colin is certain that Matthew knows about them; Mark insists he’s never breathed a word, but Matthew and Mark are thick as thieves and Matthew watches people for a living and well, Colin’s pretty sure Matthew knows about them, but as long as everyone keeps ignoring that fact, it’s fine.) Mark is laying on the bed, and he’s shirtless, and he’s _laughing_. A not insignificant part of Colin is utterly besotted at the sight of it, but he’s distracted enough by The Taron Problem that he pushes all those warm, gooey feelings to the side to continue to rant.

“It’s absolutely _stunning_ ,” he explains to Mark, “how much he is _willfully misreading_ the situation.”

“I’m sorry,” Mark manages, his shoulders still shaking, “but my lord, he really has no idea what the fuck you’re trying to do, and it’s amazing to watch.”

“I’ve done everything short of asking him up to see my fucking _etchings_ and it’s as though he’s determined to believe that I flirt with everyone and it doesn’t mean anything.”

“Well --,” Mark starts and Colin throws a pillow at him. “We could invite him here,” Mark says, rolling on his side, head propped on one arm. Colin is momentarily distracted by the glory of Mark’s bicep. “I mean, invite him in for a nightcap, you could absently wander about shirtless, show off all that hard work…”

Colin sits down on the edge of the bed and sighs. “No, that’s a step too far. I think we just have to face up to the fact that we’re not very good at this.”

“You’re not very good at this,” Mark says, but he’s snaking his arm around Colin and pulling him down under the covers at the same time, which takes the sting out of it. 

“Well then, _you_ try,” Colin pouts, wrapping himself up in the cocoon of Mark’s arms.

Mark laughs again, and Colin fucking revels in it. “I’d scare the living daylights out of him, and you know it.”

“Well, we can pray for a sequel.” Colin sighs as Mark sinks his teeth gently into the crook of Colin’s shoulder. “Until then, we’ll just have to make do with each other, I suppose.”

“I suppose,” Mark murmurs against his skin, one hand sliding purposefully down Colin’s side until his fingers cup Colin’s arse and pull him close.

“What a terrible tragedy,” Colin grins, raking his nails over Mark’s back and shivering as they rut together.

**********

**2015 - December**

“He wouldn’t, would he?” Mark asks, and Colin crosses his arms. “I mean, he didn’t pick up on anything at all from us, why would he --”

“But Taron’s absolutely his type --”

“But since then he’s got to have --”

“We should just call,” Colin says, and he knows he’s right when Mark nods in agreement and doesn’t call him a mental case.

“Don’t go to parties at his house, don’t let him into your trailer, just… don’t be alone with Kevin Spacey,” Colin says into his phone.

“I’m not quite sure what you’re saying --,” Taron manages, his voice tinny from across the pond where he’s about to start filming somewhere in godforsaken Louisiana with fucking _Kevin Spacey_. 

“What I’m saying -” Colin starts, and he can hear the angry twinge in his voice as Mark takes the phone from his hand.

“Just say ‘thank you, Colin’ and believe that he’s got his reasons, okay Taron?” Mark tells him, his voice firm and smooth and serious and not at all sounding like a hysterical mother hen.

“You’re both mental, but yes, okay, I won’t be alone with Kevin Spacey,” Taron tells them both, and Colin collapses in relief onto the bed.

“If Spacey so much as looks at him wrong, I will murder him.”

“No, you won’t,” Mark tells him mildly.

“Mark, I don’t think you realize quite how --”

“You won’t,” Mark says again, “because slowly murdering that maggot with my bare hands is what you keep me around for.”

“I fucking love you, you bloodthirsty bastard,” Colin tells him. Mark grins down at him.

“I know.”

**********

**2016 - Day 7 of Kingsmen 2 shooting - May**

The sequel is a joy, with one definite exception. Channing Fucking Tatum is the most charming man in the entire world, and Colin is pretty sure he hates him.

“You don’t hate him,” Livia tuts. “He’s too charming for you to hate him.”

“He’s a busybody and loves practical jokes and his body is not natural,” Colin gripes. “Who looks like that at thirty-six? When I was thirty-six, I looked like a soft-bellied beanpole in a jumper.”

She swats him on the backside. “When you were thirty-six, you proposed to me, and I said yes, and I like to think I have more taste than that.”

“Fine,” he says, but he’s smiling despite himself. “But I don’t like him.”

“Yes, you do.”

*

Colin should get a tattoo that says ‘Liv Is Right’. Not two weeks into shooting, Colin invites the whole cast to his room for drinks. The party dwindles through the evening until it’s just Mark and Colin, and Taron and Channing, who’s kept them all in stitches for the last hour. He’s a charming bastard, and Colin fucking _likes_ him. He’d even be able to admit it, if it weren’t for the way Taron keeps smiling at Channing, keeps leaning into his side on the couch. 

Colin barely shot a thing all day, and mostly just bitched about the eyepatch to anyone who would listen. Channing and Taron spent most of the day in a ridiculous fight scene. Mark, Colin reminds everyone at every turn, spent most of the day pretending to be knocked out.

“Terribly brutal fight scene, old man,” he teases as he’s handing Mark fresh gin and tonic. “I’m not sure how you managed to get through it.”

“Fuck off,” Mark growls at him and Colin delights in Taron reaching over to pat the top of his bald head.

“It’s alright, Mark. I’m sure you’re still an action hero, deep down inside.”

“You’re a little shit,” Mark tells him and all of them laugh.

Colin settles back into the sofa, fresh drink in hand. Mark picks the squeezed lime out of his drink and absently drops it in Colin’s - Colin prefers his drinks extra-tart, and Mark doesn’t much care one way or the other - and Colin sighs happily at the first sip.

“So,” Channing says, leaning back in his chair with a sleepy smile, “how long have you two been, you know.”

Mark chokes on his drink. Colin manages to avoid doing the same, just barely, but can only stare at Channing like an idiot. Taron… laughs.

“No, that’s… oh my god, that’s hilarious,” Taron tells him, and Channing raises his eyebrows in surprise.

“Sorry, I just assumed --,” he says, and Colin is staring at Taron now.

“No, they’re both married,” Taron says, sagely, like he’s explaining something to a child. “They’re just.. They’re _like that_.”

“No, I’m pretty sure they’re fucking,” Channing says with a wink in Colin’s direction.

“Oh my god,” Mark manages, his voice raspy from coughing. 

“Oh my _god_ ,” Colin agrees.

“Chan --” Taron starts but Channing just grins wider.

“I’m pretty good at this game,” he tells them, and Mark leans his elbows on his knees, his gaze a little dark and dangerous. 

“A little too good, I think,” Mark tells him, because Colin and Mark have been very, very good about keeping this a secret for a very, very long time, including a failed attempt at seducing the one other person in the room. A person who is now looking between Colin and Mark with an expression of utter confusion.

“You’re not, though,” Taron manages, looking to Colin.

“Well,” Colin starts, and then peters out because what is there to say? He and Mark once had this all planned out, what to say to Taron about this relationship between them, and about his place in it, should he want one, but that was two years ago and Colin had nearly let that dream fade, and his words along with it.

“How long?” Taron asks, his voice tight and small.

“A decade,” Mark tells him. “Maybe a little more.”

“But Livia --”

“Full blessings, all around,” Colin assures him, and he can see some of the tension fall out of Taron’s shoulders. At least they’re not lying cheaters, Colin supposes. Just old men who’ve clearly made a mess of things.

“I really thought he knew,” Channing says to Colin with an apologetic look. Colin is ready to buy it, but Mark cocks his head.

“Did you really?” he asks, the dangerous glint back in his eyes. It doesn’t phase Channing in the slightest, and Colin is almost impressed. 

“Nope,” Channing laughs, and then he’s draining the rest of his glass and standing up, stretching his long arms over his head. “I just thought that if I had to spend another month with you morons not getting anywhere with this, I might actually cry, so I figured I’d crack open the door.”

“You’ve flung the door open pretty wide, I think,” Colin sighs, and Channing nods his head at Taron. 

“Did I, though? Still got some work to do.” And with that, he leaves the room, and leaves the three of them in his wake, all still sitting and staring at each other. Mark takes another big swig of his drink. Colin puts his down on the table with a clink. 

“So,” he says softly, “you really didn’t know.” Taron just shakes his head at them. “Well, fuck,” he exclaims, and Mark huffs out a laugh. “We’re really fucking terrible at this,” he sighs, and Mark shakes his head. 

“ _You_ , love. _You_ are terrible at this.”

“You could fucking _help_ ,” Colin starts, but then Taron is standing up. 

“Sorry, I should… I won’t tell anyone,” Taron babbles at them. He’s blushing, is the first thing Colin notices, and his hands shake a little as he tugs on his hoodie. 

“Taron,” Mark says as Colin stands up too.

“No, I know, figure it’s a pretty big secret if you hadn’t told me before,” and Colin thinks of the fifteen ways he tried to say “darling, we adore you, come over and get naked and make us even more happy” two years ago, and how Taron sidestepped him again, and again. 

Colin reaches out and grabs hold of Taron’s hoodie before he’s managed to get both arms in it. “Wait,” he manages. “Stay.” Taron looks up at him through those gorgeous lashes. “We really did try to tell you.”

Taron is silent for a beat. Then, “Who else knows?”

“Matthew,” Colin tells him, at the same time Mark is saying “No one.” 

Mark glares at him. Colin gestures broadly to the conjoining door to the next suite - Mark’s again - and Mark finally concedes, “Fine. Matthew probably. But no one else outside of family. And Channing, I suppose. Christ,” he mutters, taking another swig of gin.

“Then why would you want to tell me?” Taron asks. He’s tugged the hoodie off again, but he’s standing with his arms crossed, not quite looking at either of them. Colin looks to Mark, but Mark just raises his eyebrows. Colin sighs. 

“You must’ve noticed,” he starts, then, “wait, scratch that. It’s been established that we’re all fucking terrible at this. Taron,” he starts again, “last time, Mark and I, well, mostly I, tried to explain that we had certain feelings that were somewhat --”

“Oh my god, I nearly forgot how painful this was to watch,” Mark says, leaning back against the cushions and looking up at Colin in something like awe. 

“Fuck you, darling.”

“No, watching a classically trained actor stumble about in the weeds like this, it’s breathtaking. It’s like watching a master at work, if the work was unintelligible,” Mark tells him and Taron cracks a small smile. 

“You _could_ help,” Taron tells him, and Colin smiles wide. He knew there was a reason he wanted to kiss him all the damn time. Taron is _loyal_ , mostly to Colin, nearly to a fault. It’s intoxicating. 

Mark looks up at Colin and grins slowly, and Colin’s stomach swoops in what is possibly dread. “Fine,” Mark says. “I’ll help. What Colin is trying to say is that he wants you. He’s wanted you since he met you. He tried for ages to get you fall desperately in love with him with only his charm and his wit, and when he failed spectacularly to charm you into bed with us, it was terribly tragic for all.” Taron’s a perfectly lovely shade of pink by now, and Colin is sure he’s a frightful shade of tomato red. “Because it was painfully obvious to anyone looking that you wanted him right back, but were too gentlemanly to do anything about it, which was sad and adorable.”

“But… what about you?” Taron asks, which is not exactly the first question Colin would have asked in his place. The way Mark blinks at him in surprise shows he’s not alone. But Taron seems stuck on the Colin-and-Mark of it all, and Colin supposes that’s fair. 

“I love him. You make him happy,” Mark tells him, and Colin thinks he might cry from how easily Mark says it. “Now, just so you know, we’re a bit of a package deal; I’m magnanimous enough to share, but too selfish to leave. If that’s a dealbreaker, I’m sorry.”

“If that’s a _dealbreaker_ ,” Taron sways a little on his feet before he sits down hard on the chair opposite them. “This is crazy,” he says, soft enough that Colin barely hears it.

Colin goes gently to his knees in front of the chair, his heart buzzing like a hummingbird. “It’s not, really. Our whole relationship is already outside the box. You’d just make the box a little bigger. Taron,” he says and when Taron looks at him, eyes shining, Colin physically hurts from holding himself back from reaching out to cup his cheek. “I feel like I should have just passed you a note that said ‘I want to kiss you. Do you want to kiss me, check yes or no. PS, my boyfriend wants to watch.’”

Taron laughs, a watery hiccup that makes Colin ache for lost time. “That would have helped, yeah.”

“Well?” Mark asks. Taron blinks at him. “Do you want to check yes or no, Taron?”

“You can think about it,” Colin tells him, remembering all the stuff Liza and Liv told them about pushing. “You don’t have to decide --”

“No,” Taron says, quickly. “I mean, yes,” he says again, looking back at Colin. “I’d like to check yes, if that’s alright.”

“Yes to a kiss?” Colin asks, but his hand is already reaching for Taron, already sliding into his hair. 

“Yes to all of it,” Taron breathes. 

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Mark admonishes from behind him, but Colin is already breathing Taron in, the soft bite of scotch on his breath, his lips, his tongue as he opens up for Colin, kissing him back with a forcefulness Colin wouldn’t have expected. “Or, well… carry on, then,” Mark laughs, and they do.

**********

**2017 - August**

“How was filming today?” Taron asks, and Colin leans back in his hotel bed, phone in hand, and just drinks in the sight of him. He spent half the spring on facetime calls while Taron ran around Hungary and Croatia filming, and now that Taron’s back in London, Colin has his own month-long shoot. Ironically, in Croatia.

“Gorgeous,” Colin tells him. “And boring. Are you sure you can’t drop everything in your life and come be my kept boy?”

Taron laughs, because he somehow loves when Colin is prissy and needy. 

Suddenly Mark’s face is on Colin’s screen, peeking over Taron’s shoulder. “It’ll be three more weeks. I think you’ll last on your own. Besides, Taron and I are busy.”

“You _were_ busy, watching the season opener without me, for which I will never forgive you.” 

“You will too,” Taron says, at the same time Mark tells him to “suck it up, old man.”

“All I’m saying is, you both owe me,” he tells them.

“Oh, what do we owe the great Colin Firth?” Mark chides. Colin can’t help smiling at them through his phone. Mark has his chin hooked over Taron’s shoulder so they’re both in frame, and Colin’s chest _aches_ just looking at them. What he’s feeling, if he thinks about it, is exhausted and lonely and fucking _horny_.

“I want a show,” he says before his brain can process any of that. He flushes a little, because that’s not exactly what he wants, not really, but it’s as close as he can get at the moment. Colin can see in Mark’s eyes the moment Mark understands what Colin is asking for. He fake growls at Colin through the camera.

“Oh, he wants a _show_?” Mark rasps, eyes locked on Colin’s before he turns his head and bites down on the soft flesh of Taron’s neck. Taron’s cheeks go pink, but he laughs, delighted, and tilts his head further to the side so Mark can have better access. Mark just goes to fucking town, one arm sliding around Taron’s chest to hold him close, his teeth scraping over Taron’s skin just hard enough to make him twitch.

He was half-hard when he called Taron; in no time at all, his legs are falling open on the bed, his hand reaching down to palm himself through his soft sleep trousers. “I think he likes it,” Taron says, eyes half-mast as he watches Colin watch them. 

“Does he, now?” Mark says, his voice dark and slow. His hand is snaking up under Taron’s thin t-shirt. Colin can see Taron’s nipples, hard under the fabric, can see the moment Mark’s fingers reach one, and how Taron melts back into him. 

“Take his shirt off,” Colin tells them, a little more breathless than he’d intended. 

Mark just looks back up at him, his thumb still clearly drifting back and forth over Taron’s nipple, and Taron _sighs_ , and Colin wants to see everything. “Would that be okay?” Mark murmurs, and it takes Colin a moment to realize he’s talking to Taron. It’s a splash of cold water on the whole thing, because as much as Colin wants, and takes, everything, from both of them, Mark and Taron have always been set a little apart. Not because of a lack of attraction, Colin doesn’t think, but just because that’s how they set this whole thing up - Colin and Taron, and Mark, watching. Colin’s ready to apologize, to call it all off, but Taron turns his head until his lips are pressed to the shell of Mark’s ear. He’s whispering something, soft enough that Colin can’t quite catch it, but Mark laughs, a genuine, happy sound. Before Colin can be annoyed at being left out, they’re kissing, deep and hot, as Mark’s hands slowly pull Taron’s shirt up and up and up.

“Fuck,” Colin breathes, the phone wobbling in his hand for a moment as he tries (and fails, the first time) to shove his other hands down his trousers to grasp his cock.

Mark pulls away just long enough to pull Taron’s shirt off and toss it somewhere behind them, and Colin loses sight of them for a moment. Taron is still holding his phone in one hand, and trying to pull Mark closer with the other. “Here, wait,” Mark says gently, taking the phone from Taron’s hand and placing on what Colin thinks is Taron’s bookshelf a few feet away. “Here you go, darling, a proper view,” Mark tells him with a smile and a wink. Colin is annoyed for a moment - they’re too far _away_ for his liking - but then Taron is pulling Mark back to him, fingers curling in the bottom of his shirt as he pulls it up and over Mark’s head. 

“Kiss him again,” Colin nearly yells into the phone, and they both laugh at him as they do, smiling, happy kisses that turn sloppy and deep as Colin watches, rapt. Mark’s strong hands are on Taron’s backside, kneading in that way that always makes Colin gasp. He can almost feel it, the ghost of Mark’s hands on his own skin. Taron seems to love it too, from the way his hips cant up into Mark’s. 

“Tell me what you want,” Mark says to Taron, nosing at the side his neck. Taron just groans a little and turns to look at Colin. 

“Whatever he wants,” he says, and Colin has literally never felt so powerful in his life. Mark laughs against Taron’s skin. 

“You’re going to give him a messiah complex,” he chides, but then he’s looking back at Colin too. “Your wish is our command, my liege,” he says with a flourish of his arm. “What do you want?” 

Colin wishes he hand a hand free to flip him off. “A fucking transporter,” he half-jokes, because oh, he wants to be in that room right now. He thinks for a moment, one hand still idly stroking himself, and realizes he’s nearly paralyzed with the power just granted to him. He wants all of it, their hands and mouths and cocks on each other. Hell, he’s pretty certain that Taron would let Mark fuck him over the back of that ugly leather chair he insists on keeping around, if Colin asked for it. 

“Colin?” Taron prods, his mouth red and wet and obscene already, and Colin just says “get on your knees.” He’s grateful to be laying down already, because Taron just bites one red lip and does exactly as he’s told, falling to his knees in front of Mark and sliding his strong hands up the backs of Mark’s thighs. “Like this?” he asks, but he’s looking up at Mark now. 

“Well, we have to give the man what he wants,” Mark replies, but he’s breathing harder already, Colin can tell, and when Taron’s fingers deftly undo his jeans, Colin can see Mark’s stomach tremble. Taron is unfairly good at this, and Mark knows because he’s seen how easily Taron can take Colin apart, how eager he is for it.

“His hair,” Colin says to Mark, and Mark just glances over at the camera with a grin as he twists his fingers in Taron’s hair. “Not too tight,” Colin says, like Mark needs to be reminded how Taron likes to do this, like he hasn’t watched it a dozen times, eyes hooded, from the foot of Colin’s bed. Mark just snorts in amusement before turning his attention back to the beautiful boy at his feet. Taron slowly, gently, peels Mark’s pants down until his cock bobs free. He waits a beat, looking directly at Colin, Mark’s fingers in his hair, before sliding his lips up Mark’s cock and slowly, slowly sucking him down. 

“Oh _shit_ ,” Mark hisses, throwing his head back just a bit. Colin can see his fingers tighten in Taron’s hair, but Taron seems to like it from the way he moans and closes his eyes, and lets Mark thrust into his mouth, just a fraction. “Oh, god, Col,” he says, looking down at Taron’s mouth stretched around him, “feels even better than you described.” Taron moans, and Colin remembers the first time they did this, he and Taron, and how Mark made him describe how it felt. He remembers being at a loss for words then, and looking at Mark now, his whole body trembling as Taron’s cheeks hollow, he feels a slight stab of vindication. 

“I told you it was fucking indescribable,” he tells them, and Mark just groans and thrusts a little harder. Taron takes it - Taron _always_ takes it - and Colin pulls his hands out of his trousers, frustrated that nothing he could possibly do to himself right now would rival the feeling of Taron Egerton’s fucking _mouth_. 

The sound in Taron’s living room is reduced to the slick sound of spit and skin and Mark’s groans and Taron’s occasional high, needy whine. Colin thrusts up into air, alone in his hotel room, and finds himself babbling at Taron. “Just like that, yes, your mouth is so fucking perfect, darling, have I told you that? He’s quite close now, see how his stomach jumps when you put your hands just there?” He imagines himself sliding up behind Mark, arms holding him tight as Taron takes him apart. “Reach one hand up, sweetheart, just cup his balls, just roll them against your fingers --” and he groans right along with Mark as Taron does just that, and Mark comes in his mouth, curling half-over him from the effort to stay on his feet. 

Taron pulls off wetly and rises to his feet, pulling Mark in and kissing him. “Nice tip,” he says to Colin with a grin as they pull apart. Mark just rests his forehead on Taron’s shoulder with a “fuck you, you bastard.” 

“You’re welcome,” he tells them both, and he’s feeling pretty smug. He’s definitely getting the hang of this voyeur thing.

“Take your pants off,” Mark murmurs against Taron’s skin, “and go sit over there.” Colin frowns as Mark pulls away, tugging his jeans up until they’re over his hips, but leaving them undone as he walks toward the bookcase where Colin is watching. “You enjoying yourself?” he asks, picking up the phone. He’s so close now that Colin can see the sheen of sweat on his forehead, the pink of his cheeks where their stubble rubbed together. He’s so fucking beautiful, all Colin can do is nod. “Me too,” he admits with a saucy wink, and Colin can hear Taron laughing behind him. 

Mark taps the screen and suddenly Colin sees Taron on the other side of the room, naked and splayed out on that terrible chair like the movie star he is. His cock is so hard it’s leaking a little against his belly; Taron’s stroking himself idly, grinning up at the camera. “This enough of a show for you?” 

“Oh lord, yes,” Colin tells him, but Mark just says “Oh, we’re not done here.” Colin can tell from the angle that Mark is getting on his knees, settling between Taron’s thighs. Colin is gifted with a glorious close-up view of Taron’s hand on his cock, Taron’s smiling face in the background. 

“Colin,” Mark says, his voice coming from behind the camera, “did you come yet?”

Taron rolls his eyes. “You know if he’d come. He’d be sleepily spouting poetry at us.”

“Too true,” Mark laughs, and Colin does flip them off this time. 

“I’ve been too busy _paying attention_ ,” he sniffs. 

“Time for watching is over, old man,” Mark tells him. “You get a hand ‘round yourself, and we’ll see if you can outlast the boy, here.” Mark reaches out to push Taron’s hand away, and he wraps his own long fingers around Taron’s cock. It fills the screen, Mark’s knuckles, dusted with dark hair, and the purple head of Taron’s cock, peeking out over the top. “You know what this feels like, don’t you, Colin?”

“Yes,” Colin manages, nearly dropping the phone again in his haste to jam his hand into his trousers, to wrap them around his own cock just like Mark holds onto Taron. He knows what Taron’s cock feels like in his own hand; he knows what Mark’s strong hand feels like on his own body, he knows _all of it_.

Taron exhales like he’s been punched as Mark’s fingers tighten around him. Colin can see Taron’s face, blurry in the background, and he knows Taron can see him too. He must be a red, sweaty mess by now, but Taron just licks his lips and says “Colin, Colin,” like a mantra as Mark begins to stroke him off. 

Colin matches his own hand to Mark’s, speeding up and slowing down in turn. At one point Mark slides the pad of his thumb over the head of Taron’s cock, smearing the precome over his fingers, and when Colin does the same his thighs shake and he has to pull his hand away quickly for fear of coming right there. “Stay with me, yeah?” Taron pants, and Colin groans and puts his hand back. 

“How close is he?” Mark asks Colin, and Colin shouldn’t know this, he’s too far into his own head right now, but he’s watching Taron writhe a bit against the chair, and can see how his hips jerk up into Mark’s grasp, and he knows Taron’s got a minute left in him, maybe two. He says so to Mark, and Mark hums thoughtfully. “Should we slow it back down?” His hand does just that, and Taron and Colin both curse out loud. “Okay, okay,” Mark laughs and resumes his earlier pace.

“Mark, fuck, _Colin_ ,” Taron gasps, and Colin knows it feels the same to him, that they’re all there, that Colin’s hand is on him, and Mark’s hand is on Colin, and they’re both just riding the edge until one of them falls over. Amazingly, it’s Taron who loses the race, Colin’s stomach clenching as Taron’s comes all over Mark’s fist. “Colin,” Mark says, low and demanding, and Colin comes so hard he shouts, his hips arching off the bed, his head thrown back against the pillows. 

When he finally opens his eyes, the phone is somewhere near his hip. He scrambles to pick it up, and when he turns it over, Mark and Taron are both on the screen again, Taron half in Mark’s lap, still naked as a jaybird as Mark pets down his spine. “Hello again,” Mark teases. “Well done.”

“You’re a menace,” Colin manages, his heart still pounding. “It was supposed to be a _show_.”

“Ah, breaking the fourth wall is all the rage,” Mark grins at him. “Nothing wrong with a little interactive theater.” Taron laughs into Mark’s shoulder. They look so… cozy, and Colin’s heart stutters in his chest. 

“Wish I was there,” he says plaintively, and Taron reaches a hand out like he can touch Colin through the screen. 

“Me too,” Taron says. 

“Soon enough,” Mark tells them both. 

“Want you both next time,” Colin tells them, his eyes closing as he fights off his orgasm stupor. “Four hands, all on me.” He’s a selfish bastard and he knows it. They know it too. 

“Of course,” Mark replies and Colin drifts off to the sound of Taron’s laughter.

**Author's Note:**

> There is nothing like getting one's favorite Kingsmen author as one's Yuletide assignment - NO PRESSURE AT ALL! Here's hoping you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. Many thanks to [a small handful of people I will thank in person post-reveals] for being excellent cheerleaders, betas and sounding boards.


End file.
